Bird of Paradise Part 37

"Oh yes; but not much more than me."

"Oh, well, I can't help that," he said very decidedly.

She looked subdued.

"Then you do like me a little bit too, Clifford?"

"Yes, of course. I say, don't worry."

"All right, I beg your pardon, Clifford. ... Oh, there's Eustace!"

His step was heard. When his friends were there his sister called him Pickering, not to be out of it.

"Won't you kiss me to show you're not cross with me, Clifford?"

"Yes, if you like, my dear. But we're not engaged, you know."

"Right-o," she answered.

He kissed her hurriedly and Eustace came in. Eustace was a big dark thin boy of fourteen, not good-looking or like his sister in any way, but with a very pleasant humorous expression. He was remarkably clever at school, and his reports were, with regard to work, quite unusually high.

Conduct was not so satisfactory, though he was popular both with boys and masters. His two hobbies were chemistry and practical jokes.

Unfortunately the clear distinction between the two was not always sufficiently marked; the one merged too frequently into the other. Hence occasional trouble.

Eustace had his arms full of parcels, which looked rather exciting. He informed his delighted sister and friend that they were going to have private fireworks on the balcony.

"Gracious, how ripping!" cried Clifford. "But it isn't the fifth of November."

"Who on earth ever said it was?"

"Is it anybody's birthday?" asked Cissy.

"I daresay," said Pickering. "Sure to be."

"But you don't know that it's anybody's birthday for a fact, do you?"

"Yes, I do. It's a dead cert that it's somebody's. Somebody's born every day. It's probably several people's birthday."

"But you don't know whose?"

"No. I don't know whose and I don't want to; what does it matter? Who cares?"

They both laughed heartily. It was so like Pickering! That was Pickering all over to give an exhibition of fireworks in honour of the birthday of somebody he didn't know anything about, or in honour of its not being the fifth November.

"But will mummy mind? Won't she be afraid?"

"She won't mind, because she won't know. And she won't be afraid because she and father are going out to dinner and they won't hear anything about it until all the danger's over. I've got rockets and Bengal lights and all sorts of things here."

"But suppose they catch fire to the curtains on the balcony and we have a fire-escape here," suggested Cissy.

"Well, and wouldn't that be ripping?"

They admitted that it would.

"Have you ever been down a fire-escape, Clifford?" asked Pickering.

"Me? Down a fire-escape? Wait a minute, let me think. No, no. Now I come to think of it, upon my word, I don't think I ever have. Not down a _fire-escape_."

"Ah, I thought not," said Pickering knowingly, as if he had spent his life doing nothing else. "No, you wouldn't have."

"Well, have you?"

"Me?" said Pickering. "Well, I don't know that I have, _exactly_. But I know all about it. Besides I once drove to a fire with one of the firemen. It was jolly."

"But you're not going to give a fire-escape performance to-night, are you? I thought you were only going to have fireworks."

"Yes, of course, that's all, and there's no danger really. How surprised the people in the street will be when they see those ripping rockets go whizzing up! I daresay we shall have a crowd round us."

"But I say, Eustace. Won't mummy say it's _vulgar_?"

"What's vulgar?"

"Why, to have fireworks. She says we oughtn't to attract too much attention and do anything ostentatious. She often says so."

"Oh, my dear, that's all right. These are _private_ fireworks! No one will know about it."

"But you'll have to tell Wenham," said Cissy.

Wenham was a confidential butler who helped Pickering out of many sc.r.a.pes.

"Of course I shall tell Wenham; at least, I shall as soon as they have started. Now shut up about it. Here's mummy."

Pretty Mrs. Pickering joined them at tea, played games with them--they did some delightful charades--and amused them and herself until it was time for her to go and dress for dinner, leaving Clifford more enchanted with her than ever.

About a quarter to eight the children had the house more or less to themselves. Cissy's governess had a holiday and the aged nurse (who had no sort of control over Pickering) was the only person there who had even a shadow of authority. She was to see that Cissy didn't play wild games, and went to bed at half-past eight, but as a matter of fact the aged nurse did neither. Cissy stayed with the boys as long as they would allow her. At last the joyous moment arrived, they went on the balcony and Pickering started his first rocket. Cissy, a little frightened, clung to Clifford.

"Suppose we have a crowd round the house," she murmured.

"You see how easy it is," Pickering said. "Anyone with a little sense can do it. Now! Now, Cissy! get out of the way!"

They waited and waited. But, alas! nothing happened. He tried again and yet again, but it turned out a failure, the sort of tragedy that is more disappointing than any danger or even any accident. ... It fell completely flat.

There must have been something the matter with the infernal fireworks.

It couldn't have been Pickering not knowing how to do them.

That was impossible, simply because Pickering always knew how to do everything.